We travel afar and we return. We always return. It’s swings and roundabouts: novelty and diversion and stasis, each in their turn. The mind’s favourite pillow is the familiar.

I watch with interest as the pilot leaves the flight deck. The guy next to me on the plane holds his gold cross tightly and presses it against his lips. I think, “My god, I have neither faith nor symbol.” Such are the choices we make. “We live as we dream, alone” in a bigger heart of darkness than one could ever have imagined.

Okay, I will post the week of April 21. Am flying Thursday. Outta here. Meantime, check http://www.twitter.com/ArnpriorCycling for the latest tweet and photo.

Bye bye, ac.